


Death and the Four of Cups

by ScaredyCrow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Afterlife, Death, Gen, He Gets Better (Physically and Mentally), Implied/Referenced Suicide, Master of Death Harry Potter, epilogue compliant, strong It Gets Better vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 17:56:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19178458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaredyCrow/pseuds/ScaredyCrow
Summary: It is exactly as he remembers it: quicker and easier than falling asleep.Seventy year old Harry has a conversation with Death about his title and what it means. Death asks Harry for a favor.





	Death and the Four of Cups

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a letter from me to you, asking you to get up again even when it would be so easy to just stop.
> 
> If nothing else, let curiosity for the future keep you going.

_The Four of Cups tarot card shows that you are feeling lost, apathetic, or dissatisfied. This card asks you to meditate on how you are feeling and ask yourself what you really want._

_The Death tarot card asks you to put your past behind you. Some things must be left behind to give you room to grow. This card is a sign to let go of attachments that are hindering you._

* * *

When Harry awoke, he was in a place he’d hoped to never see again.

His memories of the Dursley home had always been purposefully bare, but the version of it he found himself in was almost eerily blank. The living room walls lacked their customary pictures of Dudley, and the carpet, completely bare, didn’t show a single impression from the now-absent furniture that had rested on it for decades.

It was pristine in a way that Petunia (and by extension, Harry) had never quite been able to make it, simply because this was a place nothing had ever or would ever live in.

If this was death, Harry thought, eternity was going to be rather depressing.

RATHER DEPRESSING INDEED, a voice said drily behind him, and he spun with the reflexes of a seasoned auror, reaching for a wand that he didn’t have.

Standing by the entrance to the kitchen was a figure cloaked in robes so dark that they seemed to absorb the light. Harry had never met this figure, but he had always been good at thinking on his feet. It helped that he knew where he was and why he was here.

“Death,” he greeted.

HARRY, Death returned, sounding almost warm. WELCOME BACK. I EXPECT YOU KNOW WHERE WE ARE, AND THE CHOICE YOU MUST MAKE.

“I do,” he confirmed. “I have a few questions first, though.”

NATURALLY. It then pulled down its hood, revealing its face.

Or... faces?

It seemed like every time he recognized whose face it wore, its visage shifted. First it looked like Cedric. Then Sirius. Fred. Colin. Lavender. Remus. People he had lost during his Hogwarts years and that final battle. Somehow, those were easier than the ones that came next. Those wounds on his heart had healed somewhat over time, but the more recent ones had not had time to heal quite as much. Next came his auror partner who died when they were both in their thirties, taking a killing curse to protect a young woman. Then more of the dozens of people Harry hadn’t been able to save over the years. Friends, strangers, and family.

Harry had to swallow against a lump in his throat. He blinked rapidly to fight back the tears in his eyes, trying to ignore the faces of those he had loved and lost.

“Can you,” he began, and cleared his throat before continuing, “stop doing… that?”

Death tilted its head, and Luna’s eyes seemed to search his soul the way they always had. I CANNOT TAKE A DIFFERENT FORM, it said, BUT I CAN SETTLE ON ONE, IF YOU LIKE. Then, when Harry next blinked, it looked like Cedric. He blinked again, and it remained Cedric.

“Thank you,” he said. Death nodded. “So, the Deathly Hallows? Master of Death? That was all real?”

Death inclined its head. IT WAS ALL REAL. I GIFTED THREE MAGICAL ARTIFACTS TO THREE BROTHERS. I WAS CURIOUS AS TO WHAT MORTALS WOULD DO WITH DOMINION OVER ASPECTS OF MY POWER. AS EXPECTED, THE WAND AND STONE ONLY BROUGHT THEM HOME TO ME.

“And the cloak?” Harry asked with morbid curiosity. The cloak had always been his favorite, after all.

THE WAND GIFTS ITS OWNER WITH POWER. THE STONE, WITH KNOWLEDGE. BUT THE CLOAK OFFERS PROTECTION. POWER OVER DEATH ATTRACTS OTHER POWER-SEEKERS. KNOWLEDGE OF THE AFTERLIFE ISOLATES. I AM SURE YOU UNDERSTAND THE WEIGHT OF ISOLATION.

Harry stayed silent.

PROTECTION THOUGH. IT HAS ITS OWN LURE, BUT CURIOUSLY, MANY WHO RECEIVE IT EVENTUALLY WISH TO GIVE IT TO ONE THEY LOVE. YOU YOURSELF FELT THIS URGE.

He had given James the cloak when he went off to his second year at Hogwarts. James, he knew, shared it with Albus and Lily when they joined him at school.

“And the Master of Death?”

AH. Death grinned. A JOKE, ORIGINALLY. THERE ARE MANY WHO WOULD WISH TO HOLD ALL THREE HALLOWS. THERE ARE EXCEEDINGLY FEW WHO COULD BE CAPABLE OF OBTAINING THEM. THOSE WHO SEEK KNOWLEDGE OF THE AFTERLIFE RARELY CARE FOR POWER. THOSE WHO WIELD POWER OFTEN NEGLECT PROTECTION. AND PROTECTION CANNOT BE TAKEN, ONLY GIVEN. THAT, AND THE HALLOWS ARE MINE. THEY REEK OF MY POWER, AND THEY ATTRACT DEATH AT EVERY TURN.

TO COLLECT THEM ALL, ONE WOULD HAVE TO OBTAIN THE CLOAK TO SHIELD THEMSELVES FIRST. AND EVEN THEN, THEY WOULD HAVE TO COLLECT THE WAND AND STONE IN AN EXCEEDINGLY SHORT AMOUNT OF TIME, LEST ONE HALLOW BRING ME TO THEIR DOOR BEFORE THEY COULD GET THE OTHER. QUITE A SHORT AMOUNT OF TIME. FOR INSTANCE, A FEW MONTHS. Death kept its word and retained the appearance of Cedric Diggory, but its eyes twinkled in a way that was eerily reminiscent of the late Albus Dumbledore.

Harry restrained himself from rolling his eyes at Death’s almost-joke. He was almost seventy years old. He did not roll his eyes like an angsty (traumatized) teenager. “You didn’t intend for anyone to become the Master of Death. But I did it. Why did you let it happen? I’m sure you could have stopped me.”

I UNDERSTAND THIS IS RARELY A COMFORT, Death said, BUT I HAVE BEEN WATCHING YOU SINCE YOU WERE A YEAR OLD. A SOUL PIECE OF TOM RIDDLE RESIDED IN YOU, AND ALREADY I COULD SEE THE THREADS OF FATE THAT MIGHT LEAD YOU TO BECOME MY MASTER.

Death’s voice, if one could call it that, showed little inflection or emotion. The slight warmth in its tone when it spoke to Harry was hardly noticeable until it was contrasted against the icy annoyance that came when it spoke of Tom Riddle.

I CARE LITTLE FOR THE MADMEN AND MURDERERS OF THE WORLD. WHAT I DO CARE ABOUT, IS THOSE WHO SEEK TO DEFY THE LAWS OF LIFE AND DEATH. I WANTED TOM RIDDLE’S SOUL, WHOLE AND IN MY POSSESSION. I SAW THAT YOU WOULD NEED MY HALLOWS TO DEFEAT HIM. MORE IMPORTANTLY, I SAW THAT YOU UNDERSTOOD WHAT IT MEANS TO BE POWERLESS, AND YOU CONTINUED TRYING DESPITE IT. DEATH RENDERS ALL MORTALS POWERLESS, AND IT LEAVES MANY ANGRY OR APATHETIC.

BECAUSE OF THIS, YOU, MORE THAN TOM RIDDLE OR ALBUS DUMBLEDORE, DESERVE TO BE MASTER OF DEATH.

Harry stood for several moments, processing that. Powerless, he thought as he looked around at the version of the Dursley house he found himself in. He certainly had been the underdog for the first seventeen years of his life. He still didn’t feel very worthy of a title like Master of Death. But maybe that was the point.

It didn’t matter though, he knew. He hadn’t come to this place just to get answers.

When he spoke again, his voice was almost as flat as Death’s. “Did you know, there was a poisoning attempt made against me a year after Voldemort’s defeat. I was sick for days. The mediwizards told me there was nothing they could do. But I woke up one morning and felt completely fine.”

Death knew this, and Harry knew it knew, but it stayed quiet.

Harry continued. “I fell off a broom when I was twenty-seven. They said it was a miracle I survived a fall from such a height.”

“And when I was forty-three, I was hit square in the chest with a killing curse. I woke up in St. Mungos. No one else had seen what I’d been hit with, so I told them it was a suffocation hex.”

Eyes that had once belonged to Cedric Diggory gazed levelly at him, attentive but impartial.

“But when I walked into the forest ready to die, Voldemort was able to kill me. I could have stayed dead if I’d chosen to. And this time…” he trailed off. He didn’t finish the thought.

He didn’t need to.

“I’m tired,” he said eventually. “It feels like this is all temporary, like I could wake up one morning back in the cupboard under the stairs.” Here, he glanced at the cupboard door that stood, closed, between him and Death. “I want something to be permanent.”

YOU HAVE BEEN SPEAKING WITH THE SHADES OF YOUR PARENTS AND THEIR FRIENDS, SIRIUS AND REMUS. It was not a question. It was also a change of topic that threw Harry for a loop.

“I have,” Harry confirmed, unsure why Death brought it up.

IN SOME WAYS, THE STONE IS MORE DANGEROUS THAN THE WAND. THE AFTERLIFE IS PEACEFUL. LIFE IS SHARP - IT IS NOT ALL PAINFUL BUT IT CONTAINS PAIN. YOUR LOVED ONES WANT YOU TO HAVE PEACE, TO BE FREE FROM PAIN. THE SHADES SUMMONED BY THE STONE WILL ALWAYS ENCOURAGE THOSE AMONG THE LIVING TO JOIN THEM.

On hearing this, something fragile in Harry’s heart gave way, and he fell to his knees. He buried his head in his hands, but he didn’t cry. He wished he could, wished he could let these emotions out of his head somehow, but the tears wouldn’t come.

Instead, he thought of his kids. He thought of Ginny, of Ron and Hermione, of Molly and Arthur. Of Teddy Lupin. The markings on the wall in his kitchen, where he had measured the heights of his children and godson as they grew. The laughter lines that had begun to crease Molly’s eyes. The shock and wonder he’d felt when Hermione first told him she was pregnant. The dizzying fear and joy when Ginny told him the same. Permanence, he’d thought. Why had he wanted something so useless as permanence?

“What have I done?” he asked himself. Death didn’t reply.

He didn’t know how long he stayed that way. This immaculate version of his childhood home didn’t seem to allow the passage of time. Permanence. Honestly.

With the sort of wry grin that only those who have recently hit rock bottom can achieve, he slowly picked himself up off the ground. He looked at Death, who had stayed still and silent while he collected himself.

“I think I know what my decision will be,” he told it, “but I have one last question.”

GO ON, it replied.

“What do you want from me?” he asked. A title like Master of Death had to come with some responsibilities, after all. Some sort of universe-altering duty he’d been neglecting. Would he be asked to hunt and kill necromancers? Start wars? End them?

Death chuckled, and it sounded like the gentle rustling of trees in a cemetery. It was a pleasant sound, but it felt out of place somehow. Too alive.

I DO NOT CARE ABOUT THE PETTY WARS OF MORTALS, AND YOU’LL FIND THAT MANY NECROMANCERS COME TO MY DOOR QUITE BY ACCIDENT. I DO NOT ASK THESE THINGS OF YOU.

YOU CAME TO ME ONCE, DEFEATED BY AN OPPONENT WHO SOUGHT TO USE YOUR DEATH TO SOLIDIFY HIS OWN POWER.

YOU HAVE COME TO ME A SECOND TIME, BECKONED BY THOSE YOU HAVE LOST BEYOND THE VEIL.

I SUPPOSE, IF I ASK ANYTHING OF YOU, I ASK THAT YOU COME TO ME A THIRD TIME, AFTER A LONG LIFE THAT HAS LEFT YOU PLEASANTLY HAPPY AND FULFILLED. COME TO ME WILLINGLY, WHEN YOU ARE OLD AND GREY, AND YOUR CHILDREN’S CHILDREN ARE GROWN. COME TO ME WITH A HEART THAT HAS LOVED AND BEEN LOVED, A HEART THAT HAS GROWN EVEN KINDER THROUGH THE YEARS.

BUT, it added, I AM NOT YOUR MASTER. IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO JOIN YOUR LOST LOVED ONES NOW, YOU MAY. And it gestured past itself, into the kitchen of the pristine Dursley home.

Harry knew his decision already, but he allowed himself a moment to weigh his options

His parents were waiting for him. Sirius and Remus were waiting for him. They would welcome him with open arms, and he would finally get to know them. It would be peaceful, he knew. Quicker and easier than falling asleep.

But there were so many living people who were also waiting for him. He wanted to grow old with Ginny, to watch his children grow and change. He wanted to tease Ron about his thinning hair. He wanted to watch Hermione take control of the Ministry and change it for the better. He wanted to visit Teddy again. He _wanted_ , in a way that he hadn’t felt in… a decade, maybe.

He wanted, he realized quite abruptly, to be a teacher.

He was only seventy. For a wizard, that was barely even middle aged. Hell of a midlife crisis though, he thought, mind racing with half-formed ideas.

“Death,” he announced, “I’d like to go back to the living world.”

Death didn’t smile, exactly, but Harry got the impression that it was pleased. It waved a hand, and the door behind him opened. In the real world, that door had led out onto the street. In this in-between world, the door opened into white light.

With one last smile directed at Death, he stepped through the door,

And Harry Potter woke up.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure a lot of people have told you that it gets better, and I know how hard it can be to believe that. But wouldn't it be amazing if they were right? (They are right.)
> 
> Isn't that possibility worth sticking around another few weeks, another few months, just to see for yourself?


End file.
